A Conscience Conundrum
by Besina
Summary: Sebastian Moran's not always an arse. An assassin, a killer, yes, but there still lurks a tiny spark of compassion underneath it all. (How is it there is no character tag for Sebastian Moran? Only Seb Wilkes?)


Sebastian cleared his throat as he watched the next room through the monitor. "Boss, you know the point of having Holmes' flatmate is to lure him out, not to mentally break the man."

"How else do you think I can lure him out? He has to know his friend is in danger or he won't come."

"Okay, violence with a purpose I can understand, a beating, fine, even a little torture if it's a means to an end - killing someone: not a problem, I'm quick and efficient. But I have to stop this; this has no purpose other than entertaining you."

"Sebastian..."

"Sorry, Boss, but I just can't allow this. We were both in Afghanistan; I don't know him, but I at least owe him this. He doesn't deserve it; you wouldn't understand."

"But they're funny, Sebastian! I mean, _watch him_! He's cringing at nothing! The babbling is_ hilarious_! See that? I mean, what the hell is he doing with his hands?"

"Boss..."

"He's not leaving until Holmes dances a little for me."

Sebastian scowled and crossed his arms. Jim pursed his lips in a small moue and rolled his eyes.

"Fine! Turn off the audio - go in if you must._ You ruin all my fun_."

"You know very well this is the first time I've asked you to stop doing anything."

Sebastian carefully disarmed himself before opening the door - no good having weapons around someone going through a flashback. Besides, he could take down the doctor by hand if he needed to. He was vaguely grateful he hadn't ever been called to do so - he'd been out taking care of Moriarty's 'other problems' and some low-paid thugs had taken care of things so far, which was fine - being recognised wouldn't do him any good in this situation...

"Take a picture while you're in there! Might as well not let that expression go to waste!" Moriarty called after him, as the door clanged shut behind the assassin.

* * *

John had been kept awake for days, locked in a small room with a heavy metallic door. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed in the windowless room as the small amount of sleep he was allowed when he finally passed out from hunger, fatigue and pain was variable and hard to keep track of.

At first it had been interrogation and beatings, though the questions he refused to answer were ones that he thought any criminal worth his salt should be able to figure out on his own. He suspected they were just an excuse for the beatings. Several photographs were taken of him following the worst of those.

Then the beatings had tapered off and the sleep deprivation increased ten-fold. Soon, he was hearing things - he couldn't be sure if they were real or if he was hallucinating: Cries from the heat of battle, explosions, nonstop. Words shouted in Farsi. Men pleading for their mothers, others calling for a medic. Gunfire. Always more gunfire. The sounds of metal falling and crashing around him...

Soon the battlefield swarmed into view - he was back. The sun beating down on him, the ground soaked in blood. Trying his best not to let young men bleed out in front of him - it was a losing battle - he didn't have the supplies he needed. It was his worst nightmare.

* * *

"Doc!"

A soldier was running toward him - crouched down in front of him.

"You're hurt!" John exclaimed.

Sebastian looked confused, "No, I'm fine, Doc. Come on, we're getting out of here - there's no one else out here left to tend to."

"You're bleeding!"

"Where?"

"Your side. You've been shot," John scrabbled at Sebastian's coat, "let me see it."

Oh... "Just a scratch, Doc, already got it patched, come on!"

* * *

"Oh... Oh!" Moriarty's eyes shot up in surprise, and pleasure.

The door clanged open. "Change of plans, Sebastian! Leave him! We've more important things to deal with now."

Sebastian turned toward John for a moment. "Just a second, Doc, I've got to talk to the... Major. I'll be right back."

John nodded mutely as he watched his comrade stride off across the sand.

He spoke sotto-voce, "I can't leave him like this, Boss. Let me take care of him."

Jim scoffed.

"You're lucky I like you Seb. Fine, one last favor - do what you must, then come find me. I don't want to see you going soft - it's disgusting. Besides, I think I may have some professional work for you tonight."

"Fine, Boss. I'll be with you as soon as I can."

"You've got an hour." The door clanged shut again as Moriarty exited and went on his way to a new rendezvous.

* * *

Sebastian turned and was partway back to him when suddenly John cried out and flinched backward - it almost looked as if he'd been thrown. He clutched at his shoulder, rolling over onto his back. _ God, these things could be realistic_, thought Seb. Luckily it wasn't the first time he'd dealt with one.

"Doc?" he scrambled after him.

John's eyes were glassy and his breath was coming labored. "Shoulder," he gasped.

Oh christ. This was never going to be easy, but now he was going to have to deal with someone who thought he'd been shot... _though actually, it could make things a bit easier, come to think of it - he might not have to do this alone._

He looped his arm under the doctor and hauled him to his feet, then threaded his arm under the doctor's right and began walking them purposefully toward the door.

Once they emerged onto the street, Sebastian flagged down a cab. They piled into the back, the driver giving them a curious look in the rearview mirror. "Hospital," muttered Sebastian, "and play along," he added under his breath.

John looked about blearily. "Where are we?"

"Transport, mate. Going to medical."

"You need to get that dressing looked at - shouldn't be bleeding like that."

"Yeah, I will, Doc, let's worry about you first though, okay?"

"Yeah," John breathed, sagging against Sebastian, his hand still trying to grip at his own shoulder.

"Here, Doc, let me. You rest." Sebastian took over applying pressure to the imaginary wound as they sped on through the night.

As they pulled up at the A&E, a few triage personnel stepped out, one with a wheelchair. Sebastian stepped out, pulling John after him, his hand still pressed against the doctor's imaginary wound. He put sat him in the wheelchair, putting John's own hand onto his injury, as he turned to look at the bewildered staff.

He stepped aside with one and muttered, "Psych. PTSD. Thinks he's been shot in the shoulder. He actually was, once. He's a doc, will probably understand whatever you tell him. Thinks he's at a medical base at the moment. I wouldn't argue with him. Personally, I'd sedate him, but that's up to you folks."

The nurse nodded and hurried back to the others, as they all disappeared into the building.

Sebastian let out a long, low breath, turning to get back into the cab and sending a text off to Jim to find out where he was supposed to go after he picked up his equipment.

The cabbie glanced back at him. "War?" He asked simply.

"Yeah."

"Friend of yours?"

"No. Barely know him."

They pulled out into traffic as Sebastian gave him the first address they needed to travel to.

"My brother has troubles like those, not quite so bad though. You did a good thing. Tonight's on me, okay?"

Sebastian looked a little nonplussed at that, then nodded. "Uh... sure. Thanks."

"No problem. Least I could do."

He pushed the gesture to the back of his mind. He had to go fetch his gear and most likely kill some folks tonight. Best not to ponder the kindness of strangers when there's work to be done.

~Fin~


End file.
